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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604782">Tears Dry On Their Own</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiemesque/pseuds/Requiemesque'>Requiemesque</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World Wrestling Entertainment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama &amp; Romance, F/F, Light Angst, Not Kayfabe Compliant, Semi-Public Sex, WWE Hell in a Cell, Walk Into A Bar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:02:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Requiemesque/pseuds/Requiemesque</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Hell in a Cell &amp; Draft 2019. Becky walks into a bar and did not expect the words that come flooding out of her mouth towards an estranged Sasha.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this is a little bit of Becky's perspective post-HIAC.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Tears Dry on Their Own</strong>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She is a year ago.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She is the ache in the empty,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>the first time you changed your mind</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and the last time you were sorry about it…” - Caitlyn Siehl</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was that one time that she allowed herself to drink in a bar. All eyes were on her and she was just begging for a break. She tells herself that it was a good problem, and her career would be safe for at least another year. Although no one was really sure how long you can stay on top within the industry, just some time alone and a night of cheat meals probably wouldn’t hurt. After all, just four consecutive nights wouldn’t be enough to make cheeks bloat in front of the camera. She could just wear a less exposed costume. She had that choice anyway. She was ‘The Man’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was one mug after the other, a lot of people would have complained about bloating at this point but Becky was raised drinking. There were several occasions when beer was cheaper than water in the quiet little town, and suddenly, drinking became routinary. She was thirteen then; unsure of what to do, who to become, and if she could ever dream big. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank the Lord am I right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she tells herself in a state of pensiveness. Wrestling was the hurricane that quickly shifted the tides of where her life was headed, and in that swift motion, she had been saved. But the hurricane is a hurricane, and it had destroyed her too. Thirteen was an unkind age for a child to be worrying about her size. Fifteen was an unkind age for a girl to be overtraining. But whispers about the character of the industry convinced her that treating herself with cruelty was a necessary training for the cruelty of the business. A business that she hated to have loved; where you had to expose your dignity to be able to do what you love for at least five minutes per week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her lashes start to feel a little bit heavier. She laughs at how different alcohol hits when you’re twice the age where you’ve started. Indeed, time was catching up but she’s just happy to be at the top of her game. A couple of years back, careers would have expired before they’d have a chance to take off just by the virtue of being in the age that she was in. Still, it was not an easy job. There were far too many people to please, and there were far too many minds that were quick to change by the minute.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course she tried not to be worried, but now that she had thought about it, a little bit of anxiety creeps into her consciousness. It’s a little harder to breathe and her eyes dart all over the bar. A wave of estranged familiarity washes over her as she noticed the boisterousness of blue that’s modulated by a modest black cap and dull glasses. Outside of the ring, Sasha Banks does not at all look like Sasha Banks. In fact, Sasha Banks had been far from who she was since the return. Becky bites her cheeks because she feels like she’s part of the reason why. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, in a spur of liquid courage, she makes her way to the corner of the bar where the hardest working woman in the locker room sat. She wishes that this time around, the conversation would not be about spots, maneuvers, and storylines. Perhaps, Sasha would be more open as she hadn’t been in the past eight months. Becky steels herself, already prepared with a greeting but not with the decision of whether or not to apologize or be angry. Ever since the return of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Becky had been never been in that position every time she had talked to Sasha. As if four months of absence would have made a difference, Becky cursed herself because she thought things would be different. She’s just dying to get deep enough into a conversation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is all she asks of Sasha. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey?” She hears the other woman interrupt her own train of thought. Becky hadn’t realized that she’s been standing in that spot for an awkward minute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She whispers a small ‘hi’ to the woman who couldn’t even say her name. “Drink?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I’ve already had two.” Sasha smiles and Becky notices that once again, it didn’t reach her eyes - betraying the facade. That look, in particular, was the reason why Becky always made an excuse to skip the Fatal Four-Way tag match every time her friends had insisted to watch Wrestlemania 35. Sasha wouldn’t have guessed but everyone knows what a passionate Sasha looked like - and what an unhappy one did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, it’s a Friday. We gotta’ celebrate after that brutal-” Becky insists, the word ‘Hell in a Cell’ almost slipping out of her mouth as she thanks God that she was sober enough to catch it. “-workout with the rest of the guys.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although it is relatively hard to get a good read on Sasha, Becky knew enough to realize sometime during the buildup to their feud that the script was getting a little too personal. Vince McMahon was a creative man in the way he punished performers - with only the fans being able to mitigate those decisions in rare instances. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Becky laments even though she had told herself once upon a time that she would stop apologizing for the opportunities that she gets. But Becky knew deep down that Sasha deserved at least half of the opportunity that she got. Without the strength of a once-wild fanbase, it was all too easy for the company to not only deprive Sasha of a title reign - but to end her feud with Becky Lynch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Becky would not be surprised if Sasha hated her even just a little. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s really okay, I have to go soon anyway.” Sasha flashes her phone at Becky to inform her of the taxi that was ten minutes away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sasha stands up and Becky sees the only chance of rebuilding months of estrangement vanish before her very eyes. So she pulls Sasha by the wrist. They hadn’t been as close as the iconic friendship between Sasha and Bayley - but what they had was at least something in Becky’s eyes. Maybe it was good in-ring chemistry or the equally-sized chips on their shoulders when they were starting out, but the two had definitely clicked at some point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world saw chemistry between Charlotte and Becky’s story but Becky had always been vocal about her favorite match. Becky believed that the lack of disparity in regard to height, personality, and ring ability were the reasons why she thinks that NXT: Unstoppable is a classic. Although she always knew that the biggest reason was how much she enjoyed working with Sasha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Becky thought that their feud would reignite that connection, and to some extent it did. She just wasn’t sure if it was genuine or because she would take whatever she could get from the blue-haired woman and the company. She wasn’t sure if she was being delusional and that all that Sasha really is now is a shell of a person that she was once, at least to people who aren’t Bayley or Kalisto and his wife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she begs: for all of the good times past, for the future that could be. “Please talk to me.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If there's anything you need to know about this story, it's that it's my love letter (hate letter?) to Sasha's booking. Thank you for the warm response and I'm sorry if the upload didn't take more than 24 hours, I just felt like this story had to be divided.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>“In the fractured morning, full of</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>too tired and too sad, she is the first</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>foot that leaves the bed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She is the fight in you, the winning</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and the losing battle</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>floating like a shipwreck in your chest…” - Caitlyn Siehl</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re talking now,” Sasha replies, willing to be anywhere but within the touch of a drunk Becky Lynch. Those days are way past her. She yanks her hand away, slow enough for Becky to not misinterpret it as anger; but not enough to let the burn of the Irish woman fingertips stay for another good second.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Becky wasn’t drunk. Sasha hasn’t realized how intoxicating desperation can get. “I miss you.” Becky rasps.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sasha sighs because there wasn’t anything Becky could do and that she was perfectly aware of the weight that dropped alongside Becky’s words. “You just saw me last week.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a lot of things that Becky could have helped Sasha with; especially with the leverage that she held over the company. It should have been her, of all people, who knew the frustrations that Sasha felt. But really, who could blame Becky? Big breaks come to wrestlers only once in a blue moon. Sasha inwardly seethes because breaks come even rarer in the blue brand. When the devil offers you the opportunity and clout of a lifetime, you don’t let it go - especially in favor of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> who’s had a little bit of a big break back in NXT. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But friendships meant sacrifice, and Sasha was aware of how much she’d expected: from Charlotte, from Becky, from each and everyone who had a little too close of a tie to the heads of the company. There were times when she knew how unreasonable it had been, but it didn’t help that Bayley had already set the standard. The one who was willing to fight, the one who volunteered to take the pin upon knowing the way that Sasha’s heart had dropped alongside the tag titles. And she didn’t even have to tell Bayley.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hurt she felt was unjustified, that much Sasha knew. But hurt was hurt nonetheless, and she just wanted to stop feeling altogether. So she did. The throes of passion had often been justified in her head because risks and hard work often paid off in the last couple of years. A tug between chances and circumstance had often led her to make great choices and better rewards. Frequent injuries be damned. All those years of her childhood spent in places where the sun doesn’t shine should have taught her that happiness expires; and its length is dictated by who you know, what you have, and how you look like. So she should have expected that despite being the first to enter and the last to leave the performance center, she would be the first to go upon the introduction of Ronda Rousey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Becky’s rise wasn’t her fault; she had been at the right place, at the right time. Or had the right face, in the right place, at the right time. Sasha wouldn’t blame the WWE universe, nor the suits up there. She too, had been very fond of the Irish woman’s features once upon a time. Because Sasha cared, and the surgeon that saw Becky on the night of the pre-Survivor Series incident can testify to it. She was there for Becky but it hadn’t been the other way around. But maybe it wasn’t Becky’s fault that for people like her, success had a ceiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And still, it hurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sasha crunches her eyebrows at the bitter memory that she’s quickly saved from the minute that the uber driver had texted her. She really has no idea how cold and empty her eyes had gotten, and how much it let out whatever was inside. “Uh, the drivers here. See you around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t a see you around. The draft has been made and the wild card rule has been abolished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry!” Becky blurts, unsure of what else to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For anything, if there is anything. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sasha stops at her tracks, because she does not know for what Becky apologizes for. The problem with hurt and rage is that it begs to be expressed, like a loose canon that’s just looking for its victim for as long as they had culpability even in the slightest sense. “Becky…” Sasha warns, of the rest of the crowd that had started to take notice. “My driver’s here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hopes Becky would understand to not cause a bigger scene. That any more external issue related to Sasha would mean more punishment, more burying. It was bad enough that they’d lull her into a fall sense of security. And she should have known better; the management wasn’t about to grant her wishes, not when she’d held the company hostage like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Sasha was Sasha and there is a part of her that just wants to cause a bigger scene, to explode at everyone; to tell Becky that she had been the real victim of the company and she had been the one to have scratched and clawed her way. Her hair might have been dyed blue but it was because her heart saw green.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Sasha is a little disappointed when Becky resigns a sigh, but really, what did she expect? “When you’re ready, I’m just over here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once again, the burden to connect falls upon her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s grateful that her back was turned from Becky and her feet are already making their way towards the exit. Lest she sees the endearing face that accompanied Becky’s melodious plea; she had always found that part of her difficult to refuse. The part of her that had been buried when a botched heel turn and a broken face had catapulted her into a star. Sasha wished she had that kind of backing when the performance center echoed with the phrase ‘We Want Sasha’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She steps out of the bar and into the cab as quick as she could because all of a sudden, the cold of November is more biting. One last look at the bar’s windows and the glassy eyes of a <strike>Straighfire Lasskicker</strike> The Man who moves towards her old stool to order a couple drinks more. Sasha hopes she hurt Becky, thinking that it will cause her a little bit of vindication. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How dare does the ghost of her touch haunt Sasha’s wrists and make her feel like remembering?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you liked it! Reviews and kudos are always appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>“A mountain is moving somewhere </em>
</p><p>
  <em> inside of you, and her handprints are all over it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When they ask you what your favorite moment is, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You will say Her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You will always say Her.” - Caitlyn Siehl </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The traffic on the way to her apartment was relatively modest, by that, she means expectedly heavy. The skies had started to drizzle and true to their nature, people in the city opted to take a cab rather than walk to their respective homes. But after what seemed like an eternity of restlessness, Sasha arrives at the entrance of her apartment. Of course, with a heavy sigh and an even heavier soul.</p><p> </p><p>It had been such an unlucky day. Not only was she stood up by a childhood friend whom she intended to vent to about the past few weeks, but the shards of her past had threatened to rear its ugly head. It’s not that she’s over it, she’s far from over it. It’s really just that she’s done quite an excellent job at autopilot and dissociation. </p><p> </p><p><em> If you don’t think about it</em> , <em> it won’t exist. </em> No matter how unconventional, whoever told her that self-therapy works is probably giving himself a pat on the back at this point. Regardless of how painfully unhealthy avoidance is, she knows that someday this track is going to lead to acceptance. That this is all she’s going to be, a decoration in the World Wrestling Entertainment. <em> The greatest person to have never been great. </em> At her prime too. </p><p> </p><p><em> But it’s okay</em> , she shrugs as she ascends up the two flights of concrete stairs and towards the gate; the sound of her heels kissing the wet floor almost in an attempt to mock her. <em> It’s okay. </em>She plucks the keys out of her pocket and somehow its jangle had been overshadowed by the rain that had started to get heavy. She was wise to get a cab. In fact, she’s always been wise with anything she’s ever done. It’s funny how the way your life turns out is only half your choice. She laughs a little because this excuse had been overplayed, but at this point, she’s far too exhausted to even try to prove something - even to herself.</p><p> </p><p>The consequence of being half-alive is how little you care about your surroundings. They all - <em> even yourself </em>- fades into some noise in the background; like you’re pulsating in and out of this world. So Sasha doesn’t notice; that the back of her jacket had been damp from the splashes of the heavy rain, how dark it’s gotten while it’s only just eight, how a pair of boots noisily ran from a faraway pavement and towards her own.</p><p> </p><p>It is only when the noise stops and the breathing gets heavy that Sasha turns around towards the obvious source distraction.</p><p> </p><p>“Sash-” Becky pants, tired out of her mind as her mascara ran across her cheeks. It almost looks like tears, if it weren’t for the rain. “Sasha!” </p><p> </p><p>“Did you run here? Becky, what the f-”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop talking, and let me talk.” Sasha’s only ever seen the dominant side of Becky brought out on television and on the ring - at least recently. Seeing it out of ‘The Man’ character is definitely another kind of tune. </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever it is, I am sorry! Okay?”</p><p> </p><p><em> For what, Becky? </em> Sasha only stares. <em> Say it. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry if it feels like I’ve just forgotten all about you, and it feels like- last year, it was all about me.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wasn’t it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry that you went through what you did without me being there. And you were there for me after Survivor Series. I’m sorry if it looked like there was no one on your side when Vince tried to-, when Ronda came along and-” Becky takes a deep breath and Sasha crosses her arms. “Honestly Sasha I don’t know what to say.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Great. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what it is that I did wrong that made you close yourself up so easily, because believe me I tried! But <em> you </em>just retreated into this tiny little shell with Bayley, and as much as you’re hurting - I can’t believe you don’t realize that it hurts for me too.”</p><p> </p><p>Sasha swallows the lump forming on her throat, she opens her mouth but little to no words came out for quite a second. But she has to speak. “You didn’t even try.” That was really all that she could say, lest she risks the gates of her own emotion flooding - pent up for more than just a few months.</p><p> </p><p>Becky shoots her a look of plea and confusion, begging for her to explain, to just let out whatever shit she had hidden over the past few months. At this point she is willing to take anything; pain, anger, whatever. “I tried to talk to you…”</p><p>“I tried asking you what was wrong when you stopped showing up, I texted you week after week. And what? Not a single coherent response. I asked you if you hated me because we just stopped, and there was <em> nothing </em>. And Sasha, I tried to get to you but guess what? People get tired of trying-”</p><p> </p><p>“Rebecca, if you’re tired of me you shouldn’t have come here to waste my time. I’ve gotten better, okay... I’ve progressed and I’m still learning to accept shit!”</p><p> </p><p>“Accept what?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> That I’m jealous of you? That I’m supposed to be in your position, and that the rest of the world had thought that too? That my return means jackshit and I’m down here and you’re up there? That shit, the more you rose, the more people there were that kept you out of reach.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Once again, the ego and shame takes over Sasha like a gag plastered on her thoughts. She stands in silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Sasha I miss you so much and I’m sorry if my trying isn’t hard enough; I don’t know what to do. I need you to tell me, but if you’re not ready - I need you to at least try. We- I might not even see you in months. This is going to be the last time in a long time, so please…”</p><p> </p><p><em> Please stop this Becky. </em>It was too dark and too rainy to notice that tear that had rolled down Sasha’s cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t we just pretend that we’re years back and okay again? Like last year didn’t happen and that tomorrow’s going to be just right as rain-”</p><p> </p><p>Becky expects Sasha to leave. She’s been preparing for that possibility ever since she chose to neglect the bucket that she ordered and started to sprint towards Sasha’s apartment. Anything she had ever tried with Sasha had been met with futility and indifference. What she wasn’t prepared for is the Sasha that drops her bag and braves the cold of the rain that she had been standing under. The Sasha that wore the sincerest face the first time she wins a championship. The Sasha that cried. The Sasha that is making her way to Becky, and the Sasha that holds her face and kisses her with months of resentment left unexpressed. </p><p> </p><p>Her lips are rough but the kiss was deep, and Becky moans for all the years that this has not happened. Becky’s hands are hesitant, unsure of where to place them from the lack of familiarity that’s only starting to return. She settles for her hips, because little by little, through the way that Sasha’s gripping her hair, she’s starting to remember. </p><p> </p><p>When Sasha pulls away to catch her breath, Becky notices the weakness in her eyes and the tenderness of her smile that she missed so dearly. “Okay,” Sasha whispers, and it feels like a temporary pass to go beyond each wall that had been progressively built for the last couple of months. “Just for tonight, just like before.” </p><p> </p><p>So Becky obliges, too excited to savor the curves of Sasha’s waist and to re-explore the definitions of her back - the layer of dress separating them becoming more and more of an annoyance to Becky; but she will take it, take this. Because it has been far too long, and she hadn’t realized how much she craved Sasha Banks. <em> Hold on to it for as long as you can. </em> Becky moans as she doesn’t notice that Sasha had started to plant soft kisses on the back of her ear, and she is desperate to give back.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling a bold rise within her Becky starts the ascent of her hands from Sasha’s hips towards the sides of her chest. She feels the blue-haired woman shudder, and she’s sure it’s not because of the rain. If anything, this just increased Becky’s appetite; to hear more from the woman who possessed her once upon a time. Her thumbs brushed against Sasha’s nipples and Becky notices only now that she hadn’t been wearing a bra.</p><p> </p><p>“Who you supposed to meet today?” Becky tightens her grip around Sasha.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s really none of your business.” Sasha shrugs it out nonchalantly.</p><p> </p><p>She isn’t going to lie and say that she didn’t purposefully try to get a rise from Becky. As much as envy consumed who Sasha is, jealousy is a color that suits the more genuine woman in front of her. Because now, Becky is pushing Sasha away from the pavement and into the nearest surface she could find - which happens to be the door to Sasha’s apartment. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re mine Sasha.” Becky moves towards grabbing Sasha’s hind whereas her free hand wrapped itself around her neck. “We seem to have forgotten, so let me help you remember.” </p><p> </p><p>Just like that, Becky had taken charge. A chaos of lips and bodies pressed up against each other under the November moon. Her hands are all over each curve that accentuated Sasha’s body - roaming over them like a silent benediction; her lips caressing parts of her body being an act of worship. </p><p> </p><p>They couldn’t even remember when the rain had stopped and the night had gotten darker, but when Sasha opens the door to her apartment, it didn’t even matter. Becky enters and it feels like a warm welcome. To Sasha’s home; to Sasha’s life. </p><p> </p><p>But this might not even be permanent. That much Becky knew. They’ve had no resolution and the morning might be ripe with the fear to leave, at least in Sasha’s case. If Sasha thought that capturing destiny is like catching lightning; well Sasha is a woman more fickle than fate. There’s nothing Becky could do, except <em> this </em>. Her plea to be given a chance, her last appeal to remind Sasha what exactly she’s been missing. </p><p> </p><p>Becky hoists Sasha up her waist as they travel from room to room until they arrive at Sasha’s bedroom, their lips never leaving each other, never taking a moment to catch their breath. Becky remembers all of the ways that Sasha likes to be taken, and she’s made this clear. Every stroke that drove Sasha closer to the climax were every bit of ways that Becky wanted to remind Sasha that despite all the months of distance, of all the people and situations that have kept them apart, of all the demons that took many faces such as that of Vincent McMahon…</p><p> </p><p>Becky’s favorite moment is Sasha Banks.</p><p> </p><p>Always, Sasha Banks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And, that's the end of my love-letter. Hope you guys had fun! That's my first time writing some form of smut, so please be kind HAHA jk. Kudos and reviews are always appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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